


this life to the next

by tender_sushijima



Series: sakuatsu [7]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Flashbacks, I guess that's what happens when you learn history, I promise it's not as bad as it seems, M/M, it spoils the story but I don't want anyone to walk into it blindly, so please proceed with caution, something about royal au oozes sad, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29587452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tender_sushijima/pseuds/tender_sushijima
Summary: If you love someone, let them go. If they come back to you, it's meant to be.In which both Atsumu and Kiyoomi relive their love for each other.
Relationships: Ginjima Hitoshi & Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu & Suna Rintarou, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: sakuatsu [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161872
Kudos: 6





	this life to the next

**Author's Note:**

> This went so many different directions as I was writing it, but the ending is the true one and only ending.
> 
> If you'd like to know what music I allowed hurt me even more as I tortured myself, here are some suggestions: [the original theme song before I threw things out the window](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ao81ziiXHhs) | [theme song ish](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fPVa9LkM5HY) | [the ending song, sort of](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=juriuHvBkWM)

They first met in the supermarket. Not the most outstanding of first meetings, but Atsumu was used to things being mostly mediocre in his life. The man he met, however, wasn’t mediocre. He’s anything but it. Standing in the frozen food aisle, staring blankly into one of the freezers, he struck Atsumu as someone who’s hungover and had wandered out in search of food. It did cross his mind to approach the man and help him regain his bearings, maybe direct him back to his friends if they’re around, but the fight-or-flight instinct in him was making him be wary of the man’s appearance.

It’s not quite his wasted face or the miserable state of his clothes, because he looked like any other person whose staple closet essentials are limited to hoodies and skinny jeans. It’s definitely the way he’s just standing there, unmoving, like a ghost facing the corner of a room, but scarier because Atsumu could see him clear as day. A ghost in an oversized black hoodie and skinny jeans, which was the most confusing part because his mind’s telling him _no_ but his body’s telling him _YES._ That’s when he noticed the man’s right hand peeking a little out of his long sleeve, dark and dripping some viscous liquid onto the white tiles, and his body’s pivoting to _okay no it is._

The sirens in Atsumu’s head were blaring, telling him to leave, to move before the man did, but one small part of him was concerned. The dark hoodie did well in masking the liquid, but there’s a pool of it forming next to his boots, expanding rapidly in the few seconds Atsumu’s been watching him. The man’s _bleeding,_ but what _kind_ of bleeding? That’s not human blood for sure, not when it’s as black as the hoodie.

Atsumu looked around in search of someone, a security guard or the stern manager he’s on speaking terms with. No one, which was to be expected, knowing that this supermarket is mostly frequented by an older and meaner customer base and therefore making the employees lose any sense of humanity left. Atsumu hates to leave people in trouble when he could do something about it, even if they’re going to harm him in the process of his assistance, but even he could tell that the man was better off on his own. The strange liquid was enough of a deterrent, if not the most alarming one.

He started to leave, pushing the cart along. His eyes were still glued on the man as he did so and he had to turn his head in order to look away when he hit another cart. Muttering an apology to the old lady picking out apples, he adjusted his cart in the direction of the dry foods’ aisle, when he felt the man’s head snap in his direction. If the sight of the dark liquid wasn’t enough to deter passersby from his presence, then his pair of eyes would. They’re all white, no pupils to be found, and it could just be the reflection from the freezers, but they were glowing too. There’s nothing in them to indicate to Atsumu that the man was looking at him, yet he knew that the man just was.

To his horror, the man began walking towards him. His steps were uniform in tempo and stride, the loose threads on his boots jiggling with each that he took. It’s not quiet in the supermarket, but Atsumu could practically hear the clumps of his footsteps, getting louder the closer he got. The liquid dripped in an alternate beat to his steps and left a dotted trail behind him, seemingly slowing down. Atsumu had no idea why he’s unable to move, seeing that it’s not hard to flee to safety in a public space as bustling as a supermarket, but the worn-out soles of his sneakers were gripping the floor with maximum friction. That, and also the unwavering gaze that the man was giving him.

When they’re within talking proximity, the man stopped. His eyes were unbelievably white and too clear to possibly be the work of contact lenses, which was what finally shook Atsumu out of his stupor. “Are you okay…?” he hesitated.

“You can see me?”

Atsumu didn’t know what he was expecting when he asked the question, but he certainly wasn’t expecting _that._ “Am I not supposed to?” he returned dumbly.

It’s very minimal, but there’s a tug on the man’s eyebrows. “No?”

“Um, well, I don’t think you should stay here,” Atsumu swallowed, unsure himself as to why he’s doing this. “Not when you’re bleeding. Right there.”

The man lifted the hand dripping liquid and looked at it uninterestedly. There’s so little emotion in his movement, and yet Atsumu could sense his confusion. “This is not my blood.”

“Okay, that’s great! All the more reason why you should leave this place.”

“I don’t know where to go.”

“Go home?”

“I don’t have a home.”

“Oh… I see.” Atsumu went silent as he thought. “Do you want to come over to mine?”

The man didn’t respond. He stared at Atsumu for a few seconds, stone-still like a sculpture. “Can I?”

“Yeah. Come on, let’s go. I’m almost done shopping.”

The first person to tell Atsumu that he’s dumb for inviting a stranger into his house was Atsumu himself, but the actual first person to say it outwardly to him was his younger brother, Osamu, and then it was his coworker, Suna Rintarou. Their other friend, Ginjima Hitoshi, had kept quiet and said nothing, but Atsumu could see from his frown that he’s also thinking of it.

The four of them watched the man watch a little girl pick out a song on the jukebox, sitting up straight in his booth with his hands on his primly placed thighs and Atsumu’s rhinestone sunglasses perched on the thin bridge of his nose. They can’t see his eyes, but it’s not hard to see that they’re following the girl as she scampered back to her parents. An upbeat jazz music began and it instantly livened up the diner, but the man is unaffectedly still, eyes on the girl as if his gaze had been locked in place.

Atsumu turned back to lean into the bar. “Y’all saw that, right? Tell me I’m not the only one,” he asked them.

“Yeah, that’s the ugliest pair of sunglasses I’ve ever seen,” Rintarou said. He easily dodged the swing of Atsumu’s arm with a backstep, grinning.

“Quit it,” Osamu said with a sigh, rubbing his forehead. “My point is further supported by that Exhibit A right there, ya dummy. Why’d ya think it was a good idea to bring him back?”

“Well, I panicked! I’m sorry.”

Rintarou shook his head, putting on his Disappointed Parent face with his crossed arms. “You’re hopeless, chicken. He’s not some stray kitten you can just pick off the street and teach to love you.”

“I’m not planning to keep him with me, wacdonald’s. I’m not like you, always tryna steal my brother under my nose.”

“At least I want him. I don’t want you.”

“Okay, _time out,”_ Hitoshi held out an arm, cutting the air between them. “What’s your plan with him, Atsumu? You’re not gonna just let him stay the night, are ya?”

“No, obviously. He’s still a stranger. I don’t even know where he’s from.”

Osamu squawked. “What? Without knowing anything about that guy, you just brought him back and patched him up? You’re not a red cross volunteer, dummy.”

“I couldn’t just ignore him, okay? He’s lost.”

“Everyone gets a lil’ lost in life, he’s not special.” Osamu sighed again. “If what you’re saying is true, that he’s got no home, nobody whom he knows here, and… he’s got white eyes and the blood ain’t even his, then…”

“Then that’s a deranged person, Atsumu. A runaway of some sort,” Hitoshi completed in a nervous tone. “We should report him to the police.”

Atsumu shook his head. His mind’s a mess with the addition of his friends’ input, but his hunch was telling him that they can’t hand the man over to the authorities. There’s a brief moment while he was cleaning the blood where he brought up the police, and the man’s arm had tensed. His face gave nothing away, but Atsumu had felt the ripples under his skin harden before he said no. “Why don’t we try talking to him first? Maybe he’ll tell us something,” he suggested good-naturedly.

Osamu frowned. “He didn’t say a thing to you; what makes ya think he’ll talk to us?”

“Peer pressure? Maybe he’ll stop pranking us and take out his contacts?”

None of them were thrilled at the idea, but they went with it anyway. Rintarou and Hitoshi slid into the seat facing him while Atsumu sat next to him. Only Osamu stood, exuding intimidation as he peered down at the man with suspicion.

“So, will you tell us something about you?” Atsumu spoke up, since it’s clear that no one else will. “A name, an address, anything you can think of. My friends could help.” He ignored their scowls and glares, keeping his eyes on the man.

He’d have liked to keep the black hoodie on him, but it was actually more soaked in blood than he’d thought and it’d taken him a couple times of rinsing in a pail of water before the residue came out translucent. Atsumu kind of liked the bright yellow windbreaker on him, anyway. It’d done a good job in brightening up his dark countenance. He just wished the pants weren’t as dirty too, because he liked the way it hugged the man’s slender legs.

When the man took time to respond, Atsumu offered a smile at his friends, who exchanged looks of distrust and apprehension. He knew the moment he let this stranger follow him around in the supermarket and all the way back home that they’d think he’s really lost it, but Atsumu didn’t think of him as a potential threat. Everything about this man was uncanny—even Atsumu’s own body and instincts knew this, both betraying his rationale in differing ways—and yet, Atsumu’s become slightly protective over him. Over a stranger, whose eyes were white as milk and arm caked with black blood.

“Kiyoomi.”

They stopped shifting.

“My name.” Then, to Atsumu’s surprise, he pursed his lips, the first show of evident emotion. “Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

No one spoke, neither did the man, whose name wailed in their heads like that of an emergency siren. Atsumu’s smile slipped off of his face.

Osamu slammed a hand on the table, startling the other customers. Their manager looked up from behind the bar, scowling, and Rintarou held up a hand to say that he’s got it under control. “Osamu, don’t,” he started, but his hand was shouldered off.

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you? Pretending to be someone you’re obviously not.” Osamu reached over the table to pull the man by the collar, yanking him up. “Be serious. What’s your _real_ name?”

“Samu, stop it,” Atsumu mumbled, but he didn’t mean it. Not wholly.

“I am being serious,” the man—Sakusa Kiyoomi—replied flatly. It made Osamu’s hand shake even more and he tightened his hold, but it did nothing. Nothing major, save for the furrow of the man’s brows. “My name is Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

They first met at a bus stop two years ago. It was a cloudy afternoon, the sky pregnant with the possibility of heavy rain. Despite having forgotten to bring an umbrella, Atsumu had wished for it to come. The sunny weather had been going on for too long and he’s positive he’ll burn his hair off if it persisted. His newly bleached blond hair that he’d carefully styled away from his face laid flat on his head, heavy and hard and sticky with wax. On the bright side, it’s serene all around him, a lovely change of atmosphere from the hustle and bustle of university and living with a tornado for a brother.

“Hey, which bus are you waiting for?”

Atsumu looked up. It’s a guy, tall and dark and dressed too early for the next season, though Atsumu won’t complain since he looked good in them. White turtleneck, beige blazer, slim fit brown slacks—all earthy-toned and made of soft lightweight fabric, but the one that stood out the most were his shiny oxford shoes. It’s sleek black, smooth and clean, either because it’s brand new or diligently polished. Atsumu figured it’s the latter when he saw his black face mask. “710,” he answered, not bothered to hide the fact that he’d been checking him out. “And you?”

“The same.” The guy sat down on Atsumu’s right, keeping a decent distance between them. He dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out a box, offering it to Atsumu. “Want one?”

“What?”

“Gum.”

Atsumu raised his eyebrows. “Is it poisoned?” he asked jokingly.

“It’s a conversation starter.”

A _strange_ conversation starter, but Atsumu never shied away from any interactions. He took out a gum with a _thanks_ and popped it into his mouth. The synthetic strawberry flavor burst and washed his taste buds in its sweetness, before it’s gone and replaced by the numbing mint. Atsumu’s never liked gums precisely for that reason, but he didn’t want to spit it out in front of the other guy.

The guy whom he’s never seen before, but doesn’t mind seeing more often. “Where are you headed to?” he asked, rolling the gum to the side of his cheek.

“Why? Are you a spy?”

“What? No, I’m just your above average citizen with the handsome face.”

When Atsumu dared himself to sneak another glance, he nearly jumped when he saw that the other guy was already looking at him. He’d pulled down his mask and tucked it under his chin, his jaw rising and falling in a uniformed beat of chewing. One… two… three… like he’s counting seconds. His eyes were trained on Atsumu’s wide ones, darker than his black hair, a pair of holes in white ovals. As if god had forgotten to fill them up with color.

Atsumu thought of how he could lose sense of time just by looking into his eyes, and he would’ve fallen deep into them if not for the pink bubble being blown out of his mouth. It popped, snapping Atsumu out of his trance. He turned away, red-faced and hotter than he’s never been.

“You’re kind of cute,” Atsumu heard him scoff, and he bit down on the gum in lieu of a reaction. “What’s your name?”

“… Miya Atsumu.”

“My name is Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

“Oh.”

 _“‘Oh’?_ That’s all that you have to say?” Kiyoomi laughed, louder and heartier. “I thought you’d be bolder, given how blatantly you were staring at me, but I guess you’re all bark and no bite.”

Atsumu’s cheeks burned. He doesn’t care for discreetness if he thinks someone is hot because he always knows how to counter their catching him in the act, but he’s never dealt with this type of exposure. “I wasn’t expecting you to do the same, so of course I’m speechless!” he grumbled.

To both his chagrin and delight, it brought out more laughter from Kiyoomi, and he took the opportunity to look at him properly. The lines of mirth had smoothened the taut skin stretched over Kiyoomi’s defined features, softening his edges. Atsumu thought dark Kiyoomi was hot, but this brightened version of him was frankly a hundred times better.

Kiyoomi composed himself, which Atsumu wished he didn’t have to, then flashed him a grin. “Expect more to come, then. I’m going to do it as often as humanly possible.”

The first person for Atsumu to talk about Kiyoomi to was his brother, Osamu, who then proceeded to tell his best friend, Suna Rintarou. Ginjima Hitoshi had learned of it from them both when they’d all gone to have an unhealthy midnight supper at “wacdonald’s”, which was the secondary reason why Atsumu was grumpy.

“Kiyoomi’s my guy. Y’all haven’t even met him yet,” Atsumu complained, tearing into the chicken nugget which he’d brandished accusingly at them. “Why’re y’all more excited about him than I am?”

“Why aren’t we? If you’re telling the truth, that means you’d landed yourself a sugar daddy! That’s something to be excited about, if not celebrated,” Rintarou said with a cackle. He leaned into Osamu to not get knocked on the head.

“Stop it, Rin,” Osamu shook his head and pushed him away, but he’s also laughing. “No way is he a guy like that. What does he do if he’s not studying?”

“He’s homeschooled, but he’s also helping to manage his family business. If he went to uni, he’d be a junior.”

As Atsumu talked about Kiyoomi, a small and almost shy smile formed on his lips. There’s even a twinkle in his eyes, the sight of which surprised his friends. They looked at each other and wondered together, _is this for real?_ Meanwhile, Atsumu was so immersed in his little bragging speech about his guy that he didn’t realize that they hadn’t interrupted him at all.

“When can we meet him? He sounds like a cool lad,” Hitoshi asked with genuine interest. “I have a feeling we’d all get along.”

“Not with this one, I don’t think so,” Osamu lightly punched a snickering Rintarou on the shoulder, shoving him away while the latter kept trying to get closer. “So? When’s the date?”

Atsumu rolled his eyes, but his heart swelled with pride and appreciation from their support. “We’re gonna meet tomorrow, so I’ll ask him about it. But don’t get too hopeful! He’s a busy boy.”

Kiyoomi’s the youngest child in his family, the third born, the second boy in the house. The age gap between him and his elder siblings is wider than that between them, which explained his level of maturity. That’s a fact Atsumu’s noted plenty of times whenever they’re together, but it’s a fleeting thought. Sometimes, even Atsumu would forget that he and Kiyoomi are the same age, until the latter did something silly and they’re both laughing so hard that their stomachs ached. The one fact that Atsumu still couldn’t believe was that Kiyoomi’s apparently younger than him, by five months and technically by a year.

“You’re a baby!” Atsumu had exclaimed, pointing a fry at him.

Kiyoomi made a face. “Sure, if that’s what you’d prefer to call me,” he said with a small laugh, shrugging.

Atsumu shuddered, grimacing in confusion. “I feel like a child with you, though, it’s weird.”

Another fact that Atsumu’s caught on often was that Kiyoomi laughs a lot. Whether it’s a subtle lift on one end of his lips or a guffaw, Kiyoomi’s smiles were all free. His dark aesthetic was a giant diversion to his true self, because he’s sunshine in a person. He radiates his own beam.

“By the way, are you going to inherit your family business or something? You’re not pursuing anything, from what I know,” Atsumu asked as it crossed his mind, fixated on the way his chicken nugget was being submerged in ketchup. When there’s no response, however, he froze as guilt pierced into his chest. He sucked in a breath and anxiously looked up at Kiyoomi. “Sorry, that was intrusive.”

Kiyoomi shook his head with a smile, his movements unfaltering. “It’s nothing. I don’t talk about my family a lot and I’m always hasty to end it when I do, so I don’t blame your curiosity,” he assured. Now it’s Atsumu’s turn to not respond, so Kiyoomi picked up a fry and poked his lips with it. “Hey, it’s really okay. I don’t mind telling you about it anyway.”

It was relieving to hear that and Atsumu relaxed, biting onto the fry. “Okay.”

“Yeah… I should probably tell you about my family, since it’s a big part of my life, whether I like it or not.”

The Sakusa’s are part of a royal lineage, descendants of a previously major clan in the older days whose numbers have drastically dwindled with each generation. Their current family line extends up to the earl of a neighboring area, whom Kiyoomi’s the first cousin of, twice removed. That earl had two sons, but both had perished in a war, leaving him heirless and the last one of his name. There had been talks of electing a successor rather than passing it over to extended family members, and Kiyoomi’s brother was highly advocated for it. Unfortunately, he’d refused to inherit the title, rebelled against the traditional system, and fled with his lover, never to be traced. His sister couldn’t take the position as she’d taken over the family business, but even if she hadn’t, their parents would never allow her to.

“It wasn’t a position for a woman because her main priority is to continue the bloodline,” Kiyoomi explained, his voice quieter. “It’s not a matter of whether she’s fit for the role or if she’s capable of bearing the responsibilities; she has to ensure that our family doesn’t die off.”

Atsumu was confounded. At the mention of a family tree, he’s already lost, but now his confusion was justified. “But _you_ can marry a girl, have her give birth to a child, and then they’ll pass down your name.” His face then twisted at the realization and Kiyoomi chuckled. “Not that I’m asking you to do it, because I don’t want you to.”

Kiyoomi pinched his cheek with his clean hand. “If only we weren’t eating, I’d kiss you.”

“Why’s food stopping you?”

“Because I don’t want to taste salt and chicken and potatoes when we’re kissing. I want to taste _you.”_

“Oh, my goodness, _filthy!”_

Kiyoomi broke into a breathy laugh, the type that squeezed his eyes into crescents and drew lines out of his eyes. Atsumu pouted, fighting back his own laugh by stuffing his face with more chicken nuggets. He’s about to grab his third one when Kiyoomi’s hand fell atop his, disregarding the grease to intertwine their fingers. “It has to be her to bear children, Atsumu. She’s the only one who’ll maintain the safety and purity of our blood, whatever that means.”

The sun was setting outside the apartment and Atsumu hated that it had to happen now, during this conversation. Dusk is his favorite time of the day; he didn’t want one of it to be stained with this memory. “What’ll you do, then?” he asked after some time, their hands still clasped together, Kiyoomi’s thumb idly tracing the side of his index finger. “You’ll have to take that position and rule whatever it is, right?”

Kiyoomi nodded once. “I do.”

“Can’t you… I don’t know, turn it down? I’m not asking you to run away like your brother, but… you know…?”

“I wish I could—you know I want to—but after my brother ran away, the leash on me has only gotten tighter. I’m only here today because I agreed to inherit the position in exchange of freedom.”

“I wish I could—you know I want to—but after my brother ran away, the leash on me has only gotten tighter. I’m only here today because I agreed to inherit the position in exchange of freedom.”

It’d crushed Atsumu when he’d learned how they’ll eventually have to break up, but he’s more upset over the fact that Kiyoomi was headed for an inescapable fate. “Omi… I’m so sorry,” he said.

Kiyoomi shook his head, smiling again. Even that made Atsumu upset and his eyes welled up as a result. “Don’t cry for me, Atsumu. I’m here because I want to be here, I _chose_ to be here.” With the lower palm of his free hand, he wiped away the tears on Atsumu’s cheeks. “I like who I am when I’m with you. With you, with your friends, with the workers in that supermarket who can’t seem to fall for your charms. It’s always easy and fun. I never have to pretend, which is a nice feeling, a good change.”

Atsumu bawled, letting himself sob after holding back. Kiyoomi burst out laughing again, but his eyes were teary. “I wish I could do something for you, Omi…!”

“You already did. You did so much, Atsumu. You fried me fries and chicken nuggets—”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“—which I’d rather have over steak any day. Frozen food is good!” In a more solemn tone, Kiyoomi said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I’d rather live this life with you if it meant losing my old one.”

Kiyoomi’s body was found in the middle of the Sakusa’s private garden by his mother, carefully laid down to lie on a bed of plucked rose petals. He’d worn a dark gray three-piece suit so it wasn’t obvious at first, but his right arm had been cleanly cut off. It’s not a fresh cut, which means he’d been dead for some time, but it was still bleeding. The blood that caked around the stump was dark and thick, like black liquid, unnoticeable in the sleek black of his suit. Atsumu didn’t know that until a month later, when his sister personally came to see him and tell him the things that her parents kept secret from him.

“He was murdered by a band of rivals who hated the family business. They were hired by an enemy of the earl, who was killed one week prior to his death. The police were given hush money, but it didn’t take a genius to pinpoint the culprit based on the sloppy trail they’d left. They didn’t care that they’ll be caught; what mattered to them was that their rivals have lost.” Atsumu heaved out a heavy breath, one he’d held since he began talking. “I couldn’t even see him for the last time.”

No one said anything for a long minute, letting the howl of the night wind make up for the silence. After Osamu’s outburst, the manager had him and Rintarou dismissed an hour earlier since the diner wasn’t in need of more hands, but Atsumu knew it was because of Kiyoomi. Wherever the four friends went, Kiyoomi was there too, and he’s just as precious to Shinsuke as the others are. Now they’re sitting in the parking lot behind the diner, five lost boys huddled close in a circle, not knowing where to go. The shock in having heard a once familiar name come out of a stranger’s mouth had dissipated for the four of them, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste in the back of their tongues.

Kiyoomi—or the man who claimed to be him—was the first to speak up. He took off the sunglasses, which startled only Atsumu because there were pupils in his eyes. “I remember the taste of your favorite chicken nugget. It was glazed with honey, at least that’s what the package said so. And then the fries. You always picked the shoestring ones and fried them for so long that you’d burn half of them. Am I not right?”

Rintarou scowled. “What the hell…?”

“Rin,” Osamu held his wrist, shaking his head. He turned to Atsumu. “So? Is he?”

Atsumu spent weeks crying after the news of Kiyoomi’s death reached him. Every time he slowed down, stopped, and felt better, a fresh wave of tears would flood in and he’s broken again. Everyone thought the cycle of mental breakdown was permanent, that Kiyoomi’s death had left a huge gaping hole in him and sucked him dry of any light or hope. Atsumu at this point of his life was just a hollow shell of the person he was. He’d heard nothing about Kiyoomi after the single call that notified of his death, he was even prohibited from going to his wake, and he couldn’t be left alone or else he’ll starve himself to death.

It was only the month after Kiyoomi’s sister met him that Atsumu stopped crying. His tear ducts must’ve been completely dried up in those weeks, which suited him great because he’s the type who cries easily. Knowing what happened to Kiyoomi was enough of a closure for him, and he learned to let go. He learned to stop crying altogether.

Though, now hearing the man who’s beginning to bear more semblance to his dead lover recall a fact which only they would know, Atsumu felt the tap turn behind his eyes. He hugged himself tighter, biting down on his lips. “No, he’s right.”

“But… Kiyoomi is dead,” Hitoshi said. “He’s dead, and you don’t look like him. Your presence doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense. I’m here now, and I _am_ Sakusa Kiyoomi. There are memories in my head with all of you, even if I don’t look the same in yours.” He raised a hand, stopped and stared at it, as if he’s forgotten why he’d raised it. Then, he slowly reached for Atsumu’s hand, his touch light and hesitant. “I like who I am when I’m with you. I…” he trailed off, his face scrunching up in a show of pain.

Atsumu flinched as if the pain was transferred to him. The sentence rang in his head like a reminder, familiar enough to convince him that he’s heard it before, but he couldn’t remember for what. He flipped his hand around to squeeze his, and then he snapped. “Omi… is that really you?” he shifted a little to face him. “You have his memories, don’t you?”

Whatever the man was trying to say was physically hurting him, and the three went into standby in case anything were to happen to him, but also Atsumu. His breathing was becoming uneven and faster, and they caught one crystal tear fall from his eye.

“Hey, answer me. What happened to you that you have his memories?” Atsumu grabbed the man’s shoulders desperately. There’s both fear and hope in his eyes. “Say something, dammit!”

“Tsumu,” Osamu called, but his voice was drowned by Atsumu’s increasing volume.

“Complete your sentence. You _what…?_ Sakusa Kiyoomi, you _what?!”_

A strong gust of wind blew past them. The man clawed at his chest, his breaths getting whiter and thicker as they fogged in the air. Despite that, he kept his eyes on Atsumu, who reciprocated the gaze with equal fervor. Atsumu searched the unfamiliar face for any trace of familiarity, anything of Kiyoomi’s that he loved so fondly, when he noticed the two marks above his eyebrow. Atsumu never saw them because his long wavy fringe had covered his forehead, but there were two dots vertically lined above the arch of his left eyebrow. Kiyoomi had only one, right at the very position that this man’s bottom one was.

He was still struggling to get the words out, but something clicked in Atsumu’s head. With his free hand, he touched the marks, drawing an eight around them. The gesture calmed the man down and he leaned into the touch. “Omi?” he called gently, his voice already on the verge of cracking. “You said you’d rather live this life with me if it meant losing your old one. Am I wrong?”

A pair of black holes for pupils stared back at him, yet they were the brightest things Atsumu’s ever seen, brighter than even the sun. The streetlights had put little pinpricks of light in them, but Atsumu thought they belonged to his eyes, that he radiated his own beam. Kiyoomi smiled at him. “No, you’re right.”

**Author's Note:**

> WELL.
> 
> I'm the worst artist ever but here's my [insta](https://www.instagram.com/tender_sushijima/). On the other hand, I'm working to write and express myself better, so here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/tender_salami).
> 
> Thank you for reading this. Have a good day/evening/night and stay safe wherever you live.


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